Loathsome, Beautiful Thing
by Unworthy
Summary: Based on Parasite. What happened while Sylar was passed out? Slight Mylar, if you wish to see it that way. Mohinder's POV.


(Set in the middle of _Parasite_, directly after Sylar is drugged.)

As the man in front of me crumbled into a pathetic heap on the floor, I felt the urge to kick him sharply, like a child would. A single tear welled in my right eye. This was him. Father's killer. I had every right to bruise him, make him bleed, right? I drew my foot back, readying myself to contribute the blow that he so rightly deserved.

And...he sputtered. More of a sputter-cough, really. A little trickle of saliva dribbled from his limp lips, mixing with the Chai on the carpet. Pathetic thing. Evil thing. Loathsomely beautiful thing. I remembered, just a few years ago, watching Mira sleep, how peaceful she looked, eyelids flitting in dreams. That exquisiteness was echoed flawlessly in him now. Absentmindedly, I stroked his angelic cheek, then, surprising even myself, my hand flew and I had slapped him. Just seconds later my fingers reappeared on his cheek as white, then red strokes. I smiled, then giggled a bit. My tentative chuckles grew to great roars of laughter. I had him! He was here!

His leg jolted out, a feeble "mmm" escaping him. He had slept in the car, during the long drive. I'd allowed him, back when he was Zane. That exact sound had come from him then, too. It was...endearing then. It's weakness was in such contrast to the man's conversational voice, which was deep and reassuring, like being wrapped in a blanket that just came out of the dryer. When he was Zane...he was safe. Yes...safe. that was the overwhelming feeling that one could get from him. Everything that he had done for me, from the talks during that car ride, getting out to pump the gas for me, coming back with two root beers, to the smallest touch he gave my elbow as I got out of the car near the motel, all of it was so soothing. Knowing Zane was like having homemade hot chocolate with cinnamon, warm and happy.

I couldn't help but wonder what the real Zane was like. I'd never know that, now that this...filth had gotten ahold of him. The was a certain surrealism to it, staring down at the greatest friend you've known and trying to despise them.

_"So, Zane, how long have you known about your abilities?" I drank from my soda whilst going just a hair and a nickel over the speed limit._

_"A few weeks, but that really doesn't matter, does it?" I felt his eyes on me, those gleaming brown opals. "Tell me more about you, please." From the corner of my eye, I saw a smile creep across his five o'clock shadow. Heat rose in my cheeks, and I prayed he wouldn't notice._

_"Aww, the doc's blushing!" He cooed. There was a lump in my throat the size of Sri Lanka._

_"R-really it's just the sympathetic nervous sy-system which responds to-"_

_"You don't have to explain yourself to me, Dr.Suresh." He looked a little remorseful, probably for teasing me...I spoke without thinking._

_"Mohinder." His head cocked to the side, like a puppy._

_"Pardon?"_

_"You can call me Mohinder." I smiled._

My fingers ran through my hair as I looked down at him. The voice in my head told me to hate him. And I did. In theory I hated him more than anything. He killed my father, for goodness' sake! I grabbed his wrists and dragged him to the chair. In his semi-conscious state, his fingers wrapped themselves lightly around my forearms, like a young child.

"God, Sylar, have you got to make this more difficult?", I whispered as I hoisted him up into a chair. My eyes blurred as I rummaged through the kitchen drawer for some strong tape. Returning to him with the restraint, I heard a gagging sound. He was shaking. I ran towards the man. He was vomiting, still unconscious, and his body had no way to get rid of it. He was there, drowning in his own filth.

_Filth for the pig, how fitting._

I should have let him die there. But I still had that residual devotion to him, and I pushed him forward, spilling his stomach contents onto the wood floor. After securing his straps, I cleaned the spill up with paper towels and ammonia.

Returning from the trash can, I saw the tiniest dollop of vomit on his mouth. It was pitiful. I wiped it away with an extra towel, sighing. Nothing to do now but wait.

I sat in front of him, enjoying the last moments of peaceful sleep, the last glimpse of my friend before the first glimpse of my enemy.


End file.
